


The Witch's Curse

by MagicallyWritten



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Alchemist Ana Amari, Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Angst and Feels, Blood, Blood and Injury, Cute, Demon Hunter Sombra | Olivia Colomar, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Doomfish, Drama, Drama & Romance, Enchanted Armor Fareeha "Pharah" Amari, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fantasy, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Magic, Necromancy, Old Relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overwatch Halloween skins, Past Relationship(s), Quests, Romance, Side Romances, Spells & Enchantments, Team as Family, Vampire Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Violence, Willow-o-Wisp Tracer, Witch Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Witches, knight brigitte, knight reinhardt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:00:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicallyWritten/pseuds/MagicallyWritten
Summary: Angela, who earned the title "Witch of the Wilds" after running away from the school that all spellcasters are required to attend, returns with a message, a warning, one that she felt from the forest itself. She finds the only person in the school who will listen to her because of their past, Moira O'Deorain, but the reunion isn't a happy one, and what can the warning mean for their future and the future of the world?
Relationships: Ana Amari/Reinhardt Wilhelm, Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton, Jesse McCree/Hanzo Shimada, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Roadhog | Mako Rutledge, Moira O'Deorain/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	1. A Warning

A woman walked by her lonesome in a magnificent white and golden hallway. The pristine halls were open to a library below with a railing surrounding the opened area. Chandeliers lit by flames brightened her way as she patrolled. Most of the residents that called this building, known as the Arcanium, home were outside preparing for the Spellcaster Games tomorrow, leaving the hallways nearly empty save for a patrolling knight or a young spellcaster. The door at the other end of the hall creaked open, pulling the minister out of her own thoughts as her attention was drawn in front of her. Another woman entered the hallway and closed the door behind her. She was dressed in the same attire that all the ministers wore: robes with deep purples and blues and large sleeves that sparkled at the bottom of them. A smile crossed the minister’s drawn face at the sight of one of her equals.

“Ah, minister,” She walked closer to the other woman who had her head tilted down, her face covered by the hood of her robe, “How goes the decoration for the games? I hope we’ve set up enough main attractions that every parent, sibling, and royalty will enjoy as they see what our pupils have to offer; furthermore, the knights are patrolling the courtyard as we speak to watch for any wild creatures or rogue spellcasters…” She stopped in her tracks as her voice trailed off. Something wasn’t right. The magic that every spellcaster possessed, the ones in the Arcanium, at least, were controlled, nothing more than a gentle roar that swiftly rolled off them like a waterfall. This woman? Her magic was wild, flaring, uncontrolled, chaotic. 

The cloaked woman lifted her head up enough to show a small grin on her pink lips, knowing her magic had alerted the other to the fact that she was an imposter, “Hello, Minister Moira.” 

Moira took a step backward as she let a chuckle out, that familiar voice was once music to her ears, but now it was dreadful to hear. Her stance changed, forgoing her perfect posture in favor of a defensive stance: knees bent, shoulders relaxed, arms positioned in front of her as she readied for an attack. Before speaking, she inhaled deeply, savoring that delicious magic that she only ever got to taste once before, a long time ago. “The Witch of the Wilds, Angela herself, making an appearance in the Arcanium? You do realize that if any knight had caught you, you’d be dead.” Angela reached to take the hood off her head, her unkempt blond hair falling freely around her face as Moira bowed her body in a greeting; however, she didn’t bow her head down, keeping it steady so she could continue to watch the witch, “What pleasure do I have meeting with you, my old friend?” She asked as she stood back into her defensive posture.

Angela bowed back, dipping her head down before standing back up, “Old friend? Is that the appearance you’ve decided to show to the other ministers and royalty when you became their trophy? Oh, how awful they would think of you, having been with someone like me!” She spoke with sarcasm, her pitch rising for dramatic effect. She placed one foot in front of her, watching as Moira took another step backward, away from her, keeping distance between them. Angela knew that the other wanted to make sure there was enough space between them so if she needed to use her Fade spell, she could gain a decent amount of distance between them. “Come,” Angela held her hands out wide, showing she had brought nothing, “What can I hurt you with? You know my magic well. I have nothing at my disposal here. Let’s just talk like old… friends.” She said the last word with some disdain in her voice.

“Yes, thankfully, there aren’t any dead for you to bring back to life here.” Moira sneered as she stood back up straight, clasping her hands in front of her body, “Pray tell, I do tire of this conversation already. You have but little time to tell me what you wish before I summon the guards on you.”

The witch leaned her back against the door behind her, crossing her arms in front of her with a scowl on her face, “Little time? We can’t sit down and talk like civilized… well, that's the wrong choice of words, but what I have is important information that I’d prefer to describe in detail to you…”

“Not my problem. If you wanted long chats, you should’ve gone to the Arcanium’s school when your magic manifested instead of running like the traitor you are. Then we could’ve spoken together every day at great lengths.” 

Angela didn’t enjoy that answer, slamming a fist against the door behind her in a loud thud which started the minister in front of her. “Train here? And, what, have my magic on lockdown the whole time? You know my magic is not like yours, I would not be some pretty little spellcaster for the royals to dote on, I’d be forever locked up with the others that are considered far too dangerous. I’d have no freedom and would never be allowed to leave here—"

Moira interrupted Angela’s ramblings with a click of her tongue, “Your time is dwindling, surely this isn’t the important information you had for me?” She forced herself to smile, already tired of hearing Angela’s rant about the Arcanium’s shortcomings.

She met Moira’s fake smile with a glare, gritting her teeth as she responded harshly, “You’ve always been like this! You never listen, never take anyone’s help, never care about other’s opinions, yours is the only important one, no?” She hugged herself tighter, looking away from Moira, “Why not just call your guards already? This is going nowhere.”

Moira sighed, “Do not speak as if you know everything about me! We haven’t seen each other in years, people change—” 

“You have never changed, nor will you!”

Moira walked over to the railing as Angela spoke, leaning against it. She looked at the library below, memories flooding back to her, memories that involved Angela, memories that she long forgot until Angela showed her face to her today. “Why are you here? For a lover’s spat? Any other sane minister would’ve had your head on a spike by now.” She placed her face into her palms, fully leaning against the railing, hiding her tired eyes. Angela watched her, and, for the first time in years, felt a pang of pity for Moira. She seemed fatigued and less witty than she remembered her being. The witch’s own expression turned soft as she walked over to the railing, leaning against it as well, leaving a decent amount of space between the two. “Guess I’m not sane, it seems our past is stopping me from doing anything,” Moira muttered against her own hands.

“That’s exactly why I came to you…” The other responded, looking out at the vacant library below, hand tracing the wooden pattern on the railing as she searched for the right words to say. “I knew you would at least let me speak. No one else in the Arcanium would give me the time. Moira, something bad, no, worse than bad, terrible, deadly, is coming. I can feel it. Tomorrow, it’ll be here. A power that I have never felt before—the whole forest is awake with fear, the Old Gods tremble. It’s coming here, for something…”

“Here? What even is it?” Moira dropped her hands from her face, resting them over the railing, as she gave the witch a sideways glance, “You don’t even know, do you? Just another prophecy, another feeling, that has little to no truth to it, hm? Just like back then…”

Angela turned towards her, taking a few steps closer to her, one hand clinging to the railing tightly as she began reaching the other towards Moira, trying to find a way to reassure her, “I… just trust me this time, please? I can feel it, I—”

“Trust you!?” Moira snapped, grabbing the railing in both hands and pushing herself upwards to turn towards Angela, slapping Angela’s hand away from her, “You lost my trust all those years ago… what you did to me, to us, I will never trust you again, Angel!” Her eyes widened as soon as the word slipped out of her mouth. Everything happened too quickly for her brain to process what she was saying before it was said, pure emotion dictating her words, thus causing the mistake. Moira was angry at herself for not choosing her words carefully, for not thinking before speaking, and she turned away from Angela, hiding the sorrow on her face as she wrapped her arms around her, holding herself, back slouched slightly. Angela stayed in stunned silence at Moira’s slip of the tongue. To both women, hearing Angela’s old pet name was the same as someone stabbing them in the chest. 

“This… this is to make up for it, the warning I’m giving you now. If I did not feel bad about what happened, I would not be here, trying to help you.” Angela spoke gently, turning away from Moira. “It doesn’t matter to me what you do with this information, I did my part. I tried to help, tried to make it right. That’s all I can do.”

“Go.” Moira whispered back and Angela flinched from hearing the older woman’s voice crack with emotion, “I’m giving you a head start, but if you show your face around me again I will personally be the one to lob your head off for treason against our people.”

Angela bit her bottom lip as she clapped her hands together, and, when she began pulling them apart, a broom began to manifest in between the space between her two palms. Once fully apart, the whole broom was there, and she grabbed the broomstick before it fell to the ground. The engraved runes on the wooden handle glowed yellow as her magic raced throughout it. With broom in hand, she ran towards the door she had entered and swung it open. Before running through it to the next hallway, she glanced over her shoulder back to Moira who still had her back facing her. With one last look, Angela ran through the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Moira waited after hearing the door shut, her blue eyes closed tightly as she tried to regain her composure, fighting back sobs as she forced her body not to shake, forced her eyes not to produce tears, forced herself to remain rigid. Finally, she stood back up straight and opened her eyes before running towards the opposite door, “Guards! Come quick—it’s a witch, the Witch of the Wild! She’s in the Arcanium, above the library!”

A chase was had through the upper hallways of the Arcanium. Half of the Knights of the Order had gone to check on the other mage’s there, directing them to their bedrooms to hide from the possible Corruption that the witch could spread while the other knights barreled through the halls above the library at Moira’s calling. The chase ended outside, on a balcony, a discarded minister's robe thrown on the ground with no witch in sight.

“Minister O’Deorain,” A young woman, a knight-in-training, approached the minister who stood solemnly by a large window in her bedroom, staring out into the night.

“Yes, Knight… Brigitte… Lindholm, Knight Lindholm was it? Any news?” Moira muttered, not looking away from the window.

“Minister, I am sorry to report that the Witch of the Wilds escaped.” The apprentice replied, “All we found was a minister cloak on the outside balcony that she must’ve left behind.”

Moira suppressed a small smile from her face as she leaned her forehead against the cold window, her breath fogging the glass, “Quite so, it is sad to hear such news. The Witch of the Wilds has been at large for so long, she’s becoming cocky, it seems. Keep an eye out and double the guards tomorrow for the Spellcaster Games. She may try something.”

“Yes ma’am…” Brigitte paused, looking out the window with Moira, trying to understand what she was looking at, or looking for, “Did you… get in contact with the witch?”

“No.” Moira answered as soon as Brigitte finished speaking, already knowing that she was going to ask that, “I felt her magic… you know, what all spellcasters at my level can do, and ran right away to retrieve the knights, as I am supposed to.”

Brigitte nodded, “Of course, you know I must ask, as per my job. You did not notice if her magic had become corrupt, had you? Can you feel that or—” 

“Why does it matter, young apprentice? She is a witch. Once one runs away from their required training, they become untrustworthy and corruption becomes much more likely.”

“I was just thinking, maybe if she wasn’t corrupted, if she comes in for a trial and we diagnose her magic as pure, we can think about getting her into the school and rehabilitating her and helping—"

Moira finally glanced towards the apprentice, looking down at her, Brigitte meeting her harsh gaze with her own steady gaze. “That is far too dangerous, and you know it. If, and I highly doubt it, she comes in peacefully wanting to reform, we cannot risk the other spellcasters to be around someone who may have had dealings with corruption. She would be quarantined with the other witches and wizards and spellcasters who turned themselves in, arms and hands shackled, for the rest of her life. That, or she can choose death. The knights, as well as the ministry, do not offer any other choices, such as reformation.”

Even though Brigitte nodded along with what she said, she continued to argue with the older minister, stepping out of line as an apprentice, “But, you… know her, right? I mean, I just thought, well, I heard that you two used to be friends—”

Moira had enough, not wanting to continue this conversation for multiple reasons, and her face turned to a scowl, “That does not mean she gets any special treatment.” She pointed to the door sharply, “Now, enough! Leave me! You have no power to stay and question me, not until you finish your training! If the other knights were truly concerned or wanted to know more than they would’ve sent someone who had finished their training!”

Brigitte had already taken a few steps back away. Her jaw was clenched, hands balled into fists, and she was clearly not happy about their debate being cut short, but she gave the minister a quick bow, “Of course. Apologizes that I bothered you, ma’am.” Her voice sounded anything but sorry, as she turned to leave, “The other knights shall not bother you anymore, goodnight ma’am.”

Moira watched as she left before turning back to the window. She had lied to the Order. Even though it was only a knight in training, if it ever came out that a spellcaster had lied to the knights or withheld information then they, she, would be punished for it. She placed her hand against the window, her nails gently scratching the glass as she thought about how she had done many punishable offenses today, for what they did not know was that as soon as she called to the knights she ran to her bedroom and shut the door and watched through her bedroom window with worried eyes and frantic breaths. When she saw Angela’s golden wings taking her away, the witch dressed in her tattered outfit that she was well-known for as she went back to the depths of the forest that was outside of town, only then was she able to relax. She wondered just at what lengths she would allow Angela to take her. Since the beginning of their… friendship, Angela had always gotten Moira into trouble, and she was back at it again; however, she could not think about that at this moment. She had the games tomorrow to think about, and Angela’s cryptic message to keep in mind.


	2. A Game of Chance

The central courtyard was bustling with activity. The courtyard was more like a field with plenty of stands surrounding the area. The students of the Arcanium, from those who had their magic manifest only a short while ago to those who had been training there for years, were out on the field, playing with their magic and the obstacles that were set out to showcase their capabilities. Many of the children were showing off to their families who hadn’t seen them in a while, not since the last Games, and multiple families cheered from the stands, but more than that, they were also showing what they had learned to the ministers that helped with monitoring and teach them; furthermore, the royal family sat at the top of the stands, right behind the ministers, and they were watching and accessing their future magical citizens to see what jobs they should be assigned. The grounds were also littered with guards from the city and knights from the Order. Per Moira’s instruction, more knights than normal were out on the field and patrolling the stands. Instead of sitting with the other ministers, Moira paced below, near one of the exits, fidgeting with her hands. Part of her wanted to enjoy the games, and she had originally sat with the other ministers, but Angela’s words echoed in her mind to the point where she could not sit still any longer. Thus, here she was, staying close to an exit, just in case, making sure there were plenty of guards, just in case, wanting to warn everyone of some fabled feeling that a witch had, just in case… The shot of a gun caused her to jump as she turned to look towards the field. She sighed when she realized it was just the sound to begin the games and a roar of applause and cheers swept through the drome-like courtyard. A minister stepped onto the center of the field as the students all lined up in a circle behind her with their backs straight and their eyes wide with glee. Today was their day.

“Welcome to the Annual Spellcaster Games!” She called out loudly over the cheers and hollers, “Today we get to see the hard work all of our students at the Arcanium have put into their training, the magic they have learned, and their abilities! Without further ado, let the games… begin!” She shouted as she pointed her hand into the air and sparks appeared from her palm, flying upwards into the sky, and exploding into bright colors. Moira smiled at the warm reception the beginning of the games got.

“It seems she was wrong again…” Moira muttered to herself as she watched the children run to their stations to play the many different games that were sat around the courtyard. She rubbed the back of her neck as she glanced towards the ground, standing still for a few seconds before she began to head back to the ministers' seats.

“Yes… let the games begin... for us, at least.” A voice echoed throughout and a giggled followed. A woman appeared from invisibility in the middle of the field and, before anyone could even react, she outstretched her arms and shouted, “¡La oscuridad te espera!” A purple haze or magic erupted from her, hitting the spellcasters around her and out in the stands, their magic being interrupted by her spell. Moira had managed to press her back against the wall and narrowly dodge the interruption spell, her eyes glued to the woman in the center. She was cloaked in a dark brown top with pieces of silver armor over it with tight gray pants and knee-high boots. Her face was hidden beneath a hood, but the red ribbon tied around her neck and her glowing golden eyes showed her status as a Demon Hunter.

“Alright Reaper, they’re ready for you…” The Demon Hunter said while looking at her nails. The spellcasters on the field were in a panic, what with their magic being taken away, and the audience was confused, some staying in their seats, others rushing through the exits. The shadows of the courtyard seemed to suddenly stretch, colliding at the center, and a dark, blackened mass rose from them, shadows dripping off them. They were covered in shadows, the only thing of theirs that was showing was a white skull mask that covered their face. The creature—person—thing, whatever it was, tilted its head, and in an instant, the shadows began to leap from them and towards the people in the courtyard. The knights charged at this thing called Reaper, but loud shots rang out as a sniper perched at one of the top stands stood and made herself known. Her long, black hair was tied into a sharp ponytail and her clothes showed that she had money. She wore a black velvet tailed jacket and underneath was a red button-up top accompanied with black, tight pants that were adorned with rubies on their sides along with long, black boots. The knights and guards who did not fall from the sniper’s headshots fell to the man who jumped down from one of the stands, landing on the ground with so much power that the earth underneath his fist cracked. He was not human, instead, he was a Fishblood, which was a half-man half-fish race. His body was turquoise, and his torso was armored and muscular; furthermore, his right arm, which he used to take out the knights and guards, was a large, dark blue metallic piece of armor crafted specifically for him. Moira knew this because she knew who he was, but she did not have time to think more on the matter as the whole audience erupted in chaos.

The audience began jumping up from their seats, racing to the nearest exit, caring only for themselves and their family members as black as night shadows lurched towards them, covering their faces in shadows before leaving their bodies, going back to the Reaper. The bodies would then fall to the ground, instantly dead as soon as the shadows left them. Moira screamed at the top of her lungs at the audience, gesturing for everyone to take the exit near her, trying to corral everyone from running amuck and get them to go through the doors in a line, which was proving useless. The guards and knights had stopped trying to fight the attackers and instead turned their attention on rescuing those that they could. Moira watched as the shadows leaped to a woman in front of her, the woman letting out an unholy scream as she fell to her knees, scratching at the shadows covering her face. Acting quickly, Moira brought her hands together before pulling them apart and reaching her palms towards the woman, a yellow, sparkling essence washing over her face as she desperately tried to heal the shadowy mass’s attack; however, her healing magic had no effect as the shadows left the woman and went back to their master. Her magic flickered away as she brought her hands to her mouth, gasping at the sight of the woman’s face, which was completely covered in dark red blood as her body fell limply to the ground. Moira swallowed hard and closed her eyes as she knelt down and checked for a pulse, grimacing when she found none, “I… I cannot out-heal the damage. They’re instantly killing these people.” She stood back up quickly, looking at the anarchy in front of her, around her, her blue eyes wide with terror. Bodies lay in pools of blood, the smell mixing in the air along with the hot summer haze which caused her to wrinkle her nose. Many of the people lying dead were people she knew, even ministers she had worked alongside for years were dead on the spot, and she realized then if she didn’t get out of there herself she would join them in the afterlife. Quickly she began pushing toward the exit, the crowd engulfing her as she tried to escape, people underneath being trampled, but no one cared for anyone else but themselves at this point, and Moira was right there with them. She tried to keep her footing as she tucked and squeezed past people, some shoving her aside, her body hurting from the force at which they pushed her and she knew that if she made it out alive she would have multiple bruises across her body.

Finally, she made it through the exit where the copious amounts of people had a bit more room to maneuver and were not forced to push people to get through. No one knew the halls of the Arcanium like Moira did. She knew the best way to leave, the quickest way that would get her out of the building and out into the city and then… then what? As she raced along the halls with the others, she began to think about what she should do and where she should go. Then her mind jumped to Angela. Maybe she should go see her? She could not help but wonder if this was what Angela had felt the other night, running for her life through the hallways, terror seeping throughout every fiber of her being. Suddenly, she felt the strongest, most unimaginable pain embrace her right hand. She jerked her body to look down at the sharp pain on her hand, only to have some of the shadowy substance jump from her hand up to her right eye. She screamed and staggered back against one of the hallway’s walls as the shadows crept along her skin. The people running for their life screeched around her, staying far away from her as they ran away from the shadows chasing them. The shadows’ touch was cold as ice and felt like multiple needles were being stabbed into her skin and a chill began to creep into her veins. She gripped her right arm with her left as the shadows crept higher up onto her wrist and even onto her sleeve where it devoured the cloth. With her whole body trembling, fighting against the substance, she managed to cast her Fade spell, turning invisible and rounding a nearby corner before the spell wore off and she became visible again. As soon as she turned invisible the shadows dropped off her body, landing back onto the ground. Without a body to latch onto the shadows lingered before returning to their master.

Moira leaned against the wall, her breath quick as she could not decide whether she wanted to hold her right arm or cover her eye. The pain was still there, and both ached terribly so. Her vision out of her right eye was completely blurred and she could feel warm blood dripping down her face. She glanced at her right arm, her breath hitching in her throat at the sight of it. Her hand and wrist were purple in color, almost as if they did not have enough oxygen, and her veins were darkening and there were small cuts on her hand where blood escaped from. She tried to heal the cuts with her left hand, the healing magic seeping along the open wounds, but they did not close. After a few seconds of trying to heal herself, she began taking small steps towards the exit, the people around her blurring into each other, a mass of colors. She cradled her right arm carefully, blood dripping down from it and onto the tiles of the floor as she continued onward. She had a destination in mind now. She would go find the Witch of the Wilds; she would go find Angela. She knew about this event; therefore, there may know more, and maybe, just maybe, she could heal the wounds that the Reaper had left on her body.

Finally, she made it outside the city. People were running through the stone streets either towards the city’s gates or to their homes, which caused onlookers to watch curiously from their quant wooden and straw homes before the hysteria spread to them. Guards were trying to escort the townsfolk out of the gates, away from the source of the shadows, fearing that this Reaper would spread his death to those in the town. Moira followed the crowd leaving, her arm and eye aching, her body begging for rest, but she would not stop, for stopping would surely lead to her demise. She stumbled out of the large gates, the drawbridge down so that people could leave the town. Outside there were groups of people being looked over by healers and protected by guards. Hushed whispers spread throughout the people along with worry for family members and friends and cries from the young to the old. Moira did not stop, continuing onward to the outstretched woods beyond the city walls. No one paid her any mind, too focused on the people requesting aid or asking for the guards and knights to find a missing person. Moira breathed a sigh of relief that they did not notice her since they would most certainly try to stop her and take care of her wounds and she knew that if her magic could not help then theirs would not either.

Once in the woods the cries and panic slowly began to dim, replaced with the natural sounds of birds chirping and the wind rustling the leaves. Moira was grateful for the calmness that the forest brought and was thankful that the pain in her arm and eye was beginning to subdue, her pace speeding up as she began to feel a little bit better. She reached a large tree, placing her hand on the trunk, a marking carved from way back then. Two sets of initials, ‘M.O. and A.Z.’ and a tagline ‘The coven of witches be this way’ along with an arrow pointing towards the left. Moira smiled, rubbing her fingers along the lines, “Angela still hasn’t gotten rid of these, huh? Even after everything… guess she never saw me as much of a threat…” She turned to the left and followed where the arrow pointed, leading to more arrows on tree trunks that she continued to follow. The sun above became blocked out by the heavy leaves above and old trees with large trunks began to replace the scrawnier, newborn trees. Ivy tangled underfoot, trying to hold Moira into place and keep her in the forest, but she knew the way as the path came flooding back to her with every step. Finally, she stopped somewhere deep in the middle of the forest and reached her left hand out, holding it still in the air. A ward was placed here to hide the old shack away, a ward she had put up long ago and she wondered if it remembered her and her magic or if Angela had changed it. After a minute, the ward shook and broke down, showing Moira’s destination in front of her which was an old, wooden shack with leaves tied together to make a misshapen roof and a small wooden porch in the front. The outside had flowers and herbs hanging from tree branches and small candles were placed around the area. Moira felt a comfort wash over her at the familiar sights, the place truly had not changed. “Angela…” Moira called, her voice shaking before she cleared it, “Angela!” She called again, louder this time. The front door creaked open and out she came. The Witch of the Wilds, standing before the weakened minister.

“Moira?” Angela muttered, bewildered at the disheveled sight of the other woman. She ran forward when Moira collapsed to the ground, exhaustion taking over. “Moira!?” was the last thing she heard before she passed out.


	3. You Seem in Need of Aid

Moira slowly opened her eyes, blinking the blurriness away. She coughed, her throat hoarse, “Wat… er…” She rasped out, but no one was around to hear her in the one-room shack. She noticed a bowl full of water on the wooden floor next to the bed she was in. Weakly, she leaned over the side of the bed and grabbed the bowl as a wet washcloth slipped from her forehead and onto the floor. She didn’t even take the time to sit back into bed, instead, she drank the water while leaned over. She drank half before pulling her lips away from the rim, the cool water feeling pleasant on her throat, and droplets fell from her lips. She glanced into the bowl at her reflection, but something wasn’t right, something was… different. She gasped upon seeing her right eye, which wasn’t blue any longer like her left and instead was blood red. She hastily sat up in bed, dropping the bowl in the process and shrieked as the rest of the water poured out onto the floor. Moira put her hands over her right eye, her nails digging into her face and realized from doing so that her right hand was completely bandaged—what had happened to her? What was going on? Panic was rising in her stomach as the door to the small shack opened and Angela stepped in.

“Moira! What’s wrong? What’s…” She stopped when her heels touched the water on the ground, “What’s this? What happened?”

“What happened? What happened!?” Moira shouted back, “My eye, my hand, I don’t… my town, Wellspring, and the Arcanium t-they were attacked by…” She stopped speaking, her hands slowly slipping from her face and onto her lap. “the Reaper…” She muttered, the memories that she had forgotten momentarily came flooding back to her.

“The Reaper?” Angela questioned as she grabbed a rag and knelt on her knees to wipe the water up. “What’s the Reaper?” She asked while she began to clean.

“How many days have I been here?” 

Angela sighed, “Fine, I’ll answer your questions first, I guess.” She stood when she finished cleaning the floor and opened the one window in the house to ring the water out of the rag. “You’ve been here for about two days. You’ve had a fever the whole time, I’ve been trying to keep it down…” She closed the window and hung it on one of the bedposts. “You probably should get more rest—”

“My eye, why is my eye like this? Why is it red?” Moira interrupted quickly.

Angela paused, placing a hand on her hip. “That, I don’t know, I was hoping you knew.”

“And my hand?”

“Um…” Angela scratched the back of her head, “it… doesn’t look pretty, your hand and wrist.” As soon as Angela said that, Moira began to unwrap her bandages frantically. Without haste, Angela reached for Moira’s hands, gently stopping her from unwrapping them completely. “Don’t… not now, at least, it’s… a lot to take in.” She said softly, looking Moira in the eyes, her blonde hair untied and hanging down around her face. Moira paused for a second, her eyes glancing from the bandages to Angela, and she sighed, nodding, placing her hands back into her lap. Angela looked at her with concern, sitting down on the side of the bed, “Can you tell me what happened at the Arcanium?”

“The games were interrupted, as you said they would be by a small but powerful group of people…” Moira mumbled, glancing away from Angela, not wanting to look at her ‘I-told-you-so’ face. 

“A group, huh? Did you know any of them?”

“Actually, yes. One was Olivia Colomar, alias Sombra, at least, she used that when she worked as a demon hunter.”

“A demon hunter?” Angela looked surprised, “Truly? Didn’t that order cease to exist?”

Moira nodded, “Yes, they did, but there’s still some acting demon hunters who work as mercenaries and she’s one of the more well-known ones. It’s said she was dragged to hell by angered demons looking for revenge and she made it back alive, the tale goes that she even carved a path home in their blood.” 

Angela huffed, “Bah, superstition that is.”

“Well, with her magic she might’ve been able to. We ministers only thought she could interrupt demonic magic, but apparently not. She can interrupt any spellcaster’s magic.”

“That’s unsettling.” Angela mumbled, glancing at her own hands, “Being without my magic? That’s a form of powerlessness that I hope I never experience.”

“You and me both, Angela. Another was Akande Ogundimu.”

“Oh, I know him—Doomfist is what he went by when he was a Knight of the Order, right?”

“Yes. I knew you would know him. He was a strong knight, but a little too bloodthirsty for the Order. Many rogue spellcasters that he brought back were beaten up badly, and one day he went too far and a rogue spellcaster died. The order kicked him out then and there, guess he never let go of the grudge.”

“I’m surprised the Order even cared that he killed someone, they’re bringing in those rogue spellcasters to their death anyhow.”

Moira sighed, rubbing her temples, this argument was a common one between the two of them, “We give them a fair trial and a choice—death is never forced on them unless that is what they choose.”

“To die would be a blessing instead of being caged for all eternity.” 

“To each their own…” She said shortly to end a longer argument, “And then there’s Amélie Lacroix.”

“That rich woman who killed her husband and now owns that large mansion by her lonesome?”

“Allegedly killed her husband—no evidence was ever found, but we’ve been keeping an eye on her, even though she doesn’t have any magic abilities, she’s a dangerous one. She’s known to be wicked with a rifle, but she mainly hunted rare game—”

“Guess she decided to hunt ministers instead.” Angela snickered.

“That isn’t funny, Angela…”

She shrugged and nervously laughed, “Sorry, sorry, old habits die hard, and uh… the Reaper, you said?”

“Yes… I… don’t know anything about that thing…”

“Thing?”

Moira hugged herself, “The Reaper isn’t human… I don’t think, at least. I’ve never seen a human do what it did. It… it’s shadows spread across the courtyard and… killed everyone they touched.”

“They killed them? Shadows killed people?” Angela looked in shock as she unlatched her Grimoire from around her hip, glancing inside, “I don’t have anything on such magic.”

“Yes, instantly dead, and then the shadows returned to the Reaper. The shadows of the Reaper touched me, my eye and hand, but I didn’t die…” Moira looked down at her lap, “It was the worst pain I’ve ever been in though.”

Angela glanced up from her book and upon seeing the pain on Moira’s face she reached to try to comfort her, pausing for a second before decided to just pat her on the shoulder instead of hugging her. “Um, I’m sorry you experienced that…” She muttered softly, but Moira shrugged her hand off her. They sat in silence for a few seconds before Angela piped up, “Well, the Reaper did that to you, changed your eye and hand, or their shadows did, I guess. They affected you. It’s clearly some form of magic, one that neither of us have come across.”

“Yeah, guess so. I was actually hoping you could heal it… that’s why I came to you…” Moira muttered. 

Angela smirked, “Well, I knew you didn’t come here for a cup of tea with me. I can try to heal you, let me grab my broom and start with your eye.” 

“Are you certain? I know your broom helps you concentrate your magic onto your target so that it doesn’t affect others, but… maybe that wild magic would help more?” Moira asked as Angela closed her book and strapped it back onto her waist before going to the front door where her broom hung.

“Nonsense, my magic is the same regardless if I channel it or not.”

“You know,” Moira spoke sheepishly, “if you had stayed in the Arcanium you would’ve learned how to control your magic without the need of any object.”

Angela snorted, swirling the broom around her with ease, the broom being almost an extension of her magic, “And if I stayed, I’d be locked up, not allowed to practice anything but my healing magics.” She then pointed the broom straight at Moira.

“Is that a bad thing? What use does necromancy serve you?”

Angela stayed quiet for a moment before she gave Moira a small smile, “It’s taught me a lot about something that I used to be so afraid of.” A golden beam stretched from the tip of her broom towards Moira’s eye as the runes on the broom lit up. She tried to sit still and not flinch as the magic poured over the right side of her face, but quickly the golden color of the magic began to change and turn dark. Angela gritted her teeth, the broom shaking in her hands as she combatted whatever magic was cast on Moira by the Reaper. Her eye began to burn as she clutched the cover of the bed tightly in her fingers, suppressing any cries of pain. The beam began to get overtaken by the dark black leeching color from the Reaper’s marks and soon the curse touched Angela’s tip of the broom, blasting her backward into the wall, the beam disconnecting from Moira as the broom fell to the floor. Angela groaned, her hands shaking, and Moira saw that her palms were reddened, almost burned looking. Worriedly, Moira got out of bed and knelt in front of her. 

“Are you alright?”

Angela shook her head slowly, dazed from what just happened. “The magic that has infected you fought me; it didn’t want me to heal it and I couldn’t fight it, it’s so powerful…” She groaned again, “My hands hurt…”

“Let me heal them for you.”

Angela outstretched her palms for the minister as Moira hovered her own hands above Angela’s, closing her eyes and muttering the incantation she long since remembered. From her left hand, sparkling yellow glossed over Angela’s hurt palm and healed it, but her right hand produced something else, a darkened purple color, which as soon as it touched Angela’s hand she, causing Moira to open her eyes as Angela pushed her away, causing her to fall back onto the floor in shock.

“That hurt!” She snapped, holding her hand close to her chest.

Moira looked bewildered, glancing at her own hand, “I-it shouldn’t have!”

“Well, it did! What was that? What did you do?” 

“It was…” Moira held her bandaged right hand up into the air, “my magic… my hand… the cursed one…”

Angela glanced between Moira and her hand, trying to understand what had happened, “Did… that Reaper guy change your magic?” She asked, wide-eyed. “Try it again!” Angela said, holding her hand towards Moira.

Moira looked at her like she was insane, “No!” She said.

Angela sighed, narrowing her eyes at her, “We aren’t going to learn anything if you don’t try again, I know you only know about safe magic and controlled magic, but pain and magic do go together. Now come on, cast it again.”

Moira looked defeated at Angela’s persistence, “I-I… alright.” She gave-in and casted the spell once again and, just like last time, the magic she produced from her right hand was dark purple in color and hurt the second it touched Angela. Angela pulled her hand back as Moira stopped casting the spell.

“That magic…” Angela muttered, “It’s like, I don’t know, it reaches into you and makes you… cold…” 

“What kind of magic changes other spellcaster’s magic?” Moira muttered, taking Angela’s hurt hand gently in her left one. “I’ll heal it properly this time.” She began to cast her spell, healing the other’s hand. 

“Thank you,” Angela muttered, lost in thought as she thought about what form of magic could alter someone else’s magic. Moira continued to hold it with great care as if it was still hurt. She thought about how Angela’s hands were much rougher and more calloused than what she remembered and she gently rubbed her thumb against her palm, her own hands smooth and fine. Finally, Angela came out of her thoughts, blinking as she realized Moira had been holding her hand for a while and she hadn’t tried to stop her, “U-um…” She muttered, blushing as she slowly pulled her hand back to her side.

Moira smiled and laughed softly at the other’s expression, but her smile changed to a frown and she sighed heavily as her shoulders drooped. She rubbed eyes, one still aching from Angela trying to heal it, “What am I to do now? You were my only hope when it came to healing this… this curse.”

Now recovered from her embarrassment, Angela watched the minister with pity. She thought for a few seconds before standing up, dusting her low-cut brown ragged double-slit dress off. “Are you able to travel?” She asked as she removed her pointed brimmed hat and began tying her wild hair up.

“What?” Moira peered over her hands, watching the other woman.

“Can you travel?” Angela asked again as she finished tying her hair up and put her hat back on.

Moira tilted her head curiously, “I believe so.”

Angela held a hand out to help Moira up, “I know someone who might be able to help, but it’s a bit of a walk in the forest.”

She frowned at the outstretched hand in front of her, standing without accepting the help. “And who is this person?” 

Angela rolled her eyes at the stubborn woman, opening the front door and holding it for Moira, “Ana Amari.”

Moira was taken by surprise from her answer, “Her? But she doesn’t even like me."

Angela spoke as she followed Moira outside, “Not a lot of people do, but if anyone knows how to cure ailments, it’s the alchemist.” With that, she closed the shack’s door.


	4. The Alchemist

“Come on, follow me so you don’t get lost,” Angela said as she balanced her way across some large roots sticking out of the ground.

Moira’s breathing was heavy compared to the other as she kept her body close to the tree, trying to follow Angela. “Well you can slow down a bit, I am injured, after all.”

Angela jumped down from the roots, leaves crunching underfoot, “More like out of shape.” She muttered, looking out into the deep forest ahead of them. 

“What was that?” Moira questioned, coming to land beside Angela.

“Nothing! Nothing at all!” She hastily said as she continued onward. “Come now, follow close so you don’t get lost.”

“I know this forest, too.”

“Ah, that’s right, I was a bit surprised when you were able to make it to my home by yourself… you still remembered the way and the signs we set up long ago…” She shook her head, “Well, you don’t know where the alchemist has set up shop.”

“Where is it?”

“Near the dirt path farther outside of Wellspring, you know, if you leave through the north gate and continue, you’ll see a dirt road that splits from the main path. It goes to that small town on the outskirts of the Clouded Forest. Many a traveler visits her little shop to restock before continuing their journey. She has herbs, salves, potions—”

Moira cut-in, “And you’re sure she can heal me?”

“Well, if she can’t, she can at least point us to someone who can. She’s seen everything, I’m sure she’s seen the curse that the Reaper put on you.”

Moira flinched, just hearing the word Reaper made her mind flashback to the city, the Arcanium, the bodies, the smell of death in the air, and the pain of guilt that washed over her. She looked over to where the city was, the area, the forest, everything was far too quiet, almost as if nothing had happened, as if this was just a nightmare. Her hand twitched, the pain becoming sharper to the point where she felt queasy. “Wait…” She muttered, causing Angela to glance behind at her as Moira cradled her stomach with her healthy arm. “I… I’m not feeling well.” 

The witch placed a hand on her hip, “That’s why we’re going to the alchemist—”

“No, I mean…” Moira breathed a sigh, the emotions getting to her as the memories flooded her thoughts. “I should go back and check on the city. To see if the knights need help or the spellcasters… hell, they might even all b-be dead…” She began to tremble at that thought.

“What? Go back to Wellspring? That’s a bad idea…” Angela scoffed.

“It’s my town, Angela!” Moira snapped, walking over to a tree to lean against. “Forget it.” She spat, “You wouldn’t understand, you left your people.”

“I never agreed to them being my people.” Angela muttered back harshly, but she closed her eyes, trying to calm her anger, “Listen, Moira, if you go back there what will you do?”

“Help them… help them… I don’t know.” She sighed, “Just do something more than what I’m doing now, I feel so selfish.”

“You were injured and if you had stayed, you would likely be…” Angela bit the bottom of her lip, just thinking about the minister finding the same fate as many of her colleagues was a difficult subject to think about. Instead, she walked over to Moira and gently patted her on the arm, trying to get her attention away from her thoughts and onto her, “I know you want to help, but you can be more helpful to them once you’re healed and back to your full strength. Then we can figure out what’s going on.”

Moira looked at the ground, “Why do you want to help?”

Angela looked away, thinking about the question before speaking, “From what you said, this Reaper killed a stadium full of people without even moving a muscle. We don’t know his reason why yet, but if he plans on killing more, then everyone, from spellcaster to beggar is in danger, and I won’t stand by and do nothing while a killer is on the loose threatening those who haven’t a clue how to fight nor even know he exists. Isn’t that your plan as well, to find this Reaper and end him?”

“Of course!” Moira said, looking Angela in the eyes, “I made it out alive against him, I…” Her voice got softer, more solemn as she spoke, “I think I’m the only one who did… and, if so, then no one else knows he’s out there. I will figure out a way to stop him and make him atone for the crimes he committed!"

Angela smiled, “Then we have the same goal in common, shouldn’t we team up after the alchemist heals you?”

Moira grimaced, “A minister to team up with a witch? That could get me executed, you know.”

“Well, these are strange times, wouldn’t you say? I’m sure that, if you help, they’ll pardon any crimes that come from just being around someone as wicked as me.” She offered her hand to Moira, “Once this is all over, we’ll go our separate ways, you can go back to your snug Arcanium and I’ll be free of your whining, sound like a plan?”

Moira rolled her eyes, “Maybe when things go back to normal, you’ll turn yourself in, want to add that to the arrangement?”

Angela smiled wide, “Not a chance.”

“It was worth a chance.” She said with a chuckle before she took Angela’s hand in her own, shaking it, “I’ll agree to partner up with you until things go back to normal.”

“And until the Reaper is dead.” Angela added before turning around, still holding onto Moira’s hand, “Let’s go to the alchemist and get you fit to fight!” She pulled Moira along behind her, causing the woman to stumble. 

“H-hey!”

“What? Still, feeling ill? I can carry you if you want. We’d probably get there quicker that way—”

Moira jerked her hand free of the witch’s grasp, pushing Angela half-heartedly, “I don’t need your help with walking…”

Angela laughed and Moira suppressed a snicker, both enjoying the moment as it brought back memories of when they were younger. Angela waved Moira along, “Come on then, we’re close.”

The two continued through the woods, which began to get sparser the longer they walked before, finally, the reached the dirt path that Angela had been talking about. Across the way sat a lonely wooden home. It was larger than the witch’s hut was and had a large, wraparound porch along with a chimney that had smoke puffing out of it, showing that someone was home. Plants and herbs danged from hanging pots on the porch and the windows were darkened by curtains from the inside. Angela quickly went to the front of the house with Moira following slowly, uncomfortable meeting someone in her condition along with a witch. Angela knocked, and an older woman’s voice echoed within, “It’s open!”

Angela opened the door, coming in without a pause while Moira hanged back. “Oh, Angela!” The older woman spoke, “It’s so nice to see you, it’s been a while!” 

“It has, it’s good to see you, Ana!” Angela said, happily. 

“What brings you here today?”

“I have a… fri… no… uh, acquai… uh… someone who is ill and needs your help…” Angela glanced back to the porch where Moira had not moved. “She isn’t going to bite you.” She mocked, and Moira finally went inside, arms crossed in front of her. Angela shut the door behind her, and it took a while for her eyes to adjust to the darker environment. A fireplace and a few candles offered little light in the abode, but once Moira’s eyes adjusted, she gaped at the interior. The whole room was covered in shelves where plants of all kind sat, along with jars that held flittering bugs inside and bottles of peculiar-looking liquid, some glowing, some turning in their bottles, some even bubbling. She was amazed at everything surrounding her, and she finally gazed at the alchemist herself, Ana, who was standing behind a counter.

The alchemist was an older woman with white hair which was covered by a hooded robe. She looked Moira up and down and muttered, “Those robes… you… you’re a minister…”

“Um, yes, I am.” Moira felt Ana’s eyes burning into her, waiting for her to say something negative about her traveling with the Witch of the Wilds.

“You, you monster! Your kind killed my daughter!” Ana gasped loudly, pointing a finger at Moira.

Angela took a step away from Moira, “What? What did you do this time?" She groaned.

Moira held both her hands up at the acquisition, eyes wide. That was certainly not what she was expecting the alchemist to say to her. "Wait, I'm sure this is just a misunderstanding!"

Ana cared not for her words and she made this known by throwing a miniature cauldron square at the minister with sniper-like precision. Even those it was small, the iron cauldron still packed a punch, knocking Moira out.

"Ana wait! Ah, Moira!" Angela shrieked and Ana chuckled as Moira fell to the floor, unconscious once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone curious, I've taken some of the map names from the game and changed them using synonyms to make some of the areas in this fantasy setting. Oasis is Wellspring, the Black Forest is the Clouded Forest, etc. It's mainly because I wanted to keep some recognition of the maps but also not make it... weird, since the Black Forest is a real place, as well as some other map names that I'll be using in the future (some, though, will be my own creation). Thank you for reading!


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